


Fitting

by SweetSinger2010



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSinger2010/pseuds/SweetSinger2010
Summary: Making that mask seemed like such a small thing to do for Kanan, but Sabine had always found it easier to express herself through art. What she couldn't say with words, she said with paint.





	Fitting

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on ffn.

Fitting

Sabine walked into the galley and saw Hera standing at the table, hands on her hips, staring at something. It was so unlike Hera to stand still for very long, and Sabine didn’t know whether she should be more curious or concerned.

“What’s up?” She ventured at last.

Hera turned aside, throwing one arm out in a sweeping gesture. “This.” Her voice flat, strained.

Sabine looked at what was on the tabletop. “Is that…Kanan’s armor?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“W—why?”

“He wanted to get rid of it.”

Sabine’s eyebrows flew into her hairline. “Because going blind has made him immune to the Empire’s blasterfire?” She stepped forward and picked up the shoulder-plate, running her thumb over the carbon scoring there.

Hera’s eyes were dull and tired, but she rolled them energetically enough. “I don’t know, Sabine.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

“Are…you okay?” It was an honest question, but it sounded so hollow somehow. Sabine cringed as the last syllable left her mouth.

“I…will be,” Hera said in a sigh. “Just need a good night’s sleep.”

That was the equivalent of the universally dreaded _I’m fine, just tired_ spoken by legions of women over countless years.

“Right.” Sabine gnawed on her lip for a moment. “Well, listen, you’re on watch in the command center tonight, right? Why don’t you let me take it?”

“Sabine, no.” She frowned deeply even as relief flooded her expression at the thought.

Sabine waved a hand. “I think Wedge is on, too, and he’s always fun to hang out with. And anyway, I have a project in mind that’ll keep me busy most of the night.”

Hera hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Totally. Go to bed early, Hera. Get some rest.” She paused a beat and then added suddenly, “I know this is all harder on you than you let on.”

Hera opened her mouth to contradict, but couldn’t quite make herself do it. “Thanks, Sabine.” She squeezed her hand. “I owe you.”

“Not even close,” Sabine answered with a smile. “Just…take care of yourself, okay?” Hera nodded turning to leave. “Hey,” Sabine added, “What are you going to do with this?” She held up Kanan’s shoulder-plate, still in her hand, and gestured to the rest of the armor on the table.

“Leave it,” Hera said wearily. “I can’t deal with it today, and it won’t be in the way there, since we don’t seem to eat all together anymore.” She shook her head, stepping out of the galley. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

Sabine watched Hera go, guilt clenching in the pit of her stomach. Ever since Malachor, everyone had taken to eating meals in their cabins or the common room at odd times, no one comfortable with the stiff silence or forced conversation that seemed to be the new norm. Sabine, ever content with being alone, hadn’t realized how much it was wearing on Hera. She resolved to tell Ezra and Zeb they all needed to get their act together for the Twi’lek’s sake, but it was going to have to wait.

She turned Kanan’s shoulder-plate over in her hands. It was in good condition; all of his plating was. She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to get rid of it. But then, she couldn’t imagine being in his position, having to deal with the loss of his sight. She sighed. Everything was such a mess.

She looked at the carbon scoring on the shoulder-plate, scraping at a small spot with her thumbnail. With a little persistence, it came off with minimal damage to the paint underneath. She had something in mind, an idea that sparked when she first saw the armor on the table. Sabine hummed thoughtfully, mentally running through her collection of paint and tools. Yes—she thought she could make this work.

* * *

 

Kanan was awake at dawn when he heard someone walk up to his cabin, set something outside the door, and then quickly walk away. He waited until the footfalls—he was pretty sure they were Sabine’s—faded into silence before he opened the door stopped to pick up whatever it was she’d left behind. His fingers found a holo-recorder and…a piece of his armor? The texture of the paint was almost right, but the underside and the shape was wrong.

Closing the door and retreating back into his room, he sat on his bunk and activated the holo-recorder.

 _“Hey, Kanan.”_ It _was_ Sabine. _“So, I would have done this in person, but I just got called out on a recon thing with Rex and Zeb, which should be…scintillating…”_

Kanan chuckled at the wry note in her tone. But underneath that, she sounded tired, like she hadn’t slept.

 _“…and I didn’t know if you’d be up for…”_ She sighed. _“So, anyway.”_

Kanan rubbed a hand over his beard. He hated that he’d managed to push everyone away, and he hated that he didn’t know how to _not_. He half-wished he was really talking to Sabine instead of listening to a message from her; maybe he would have tried to reach out. But he wasn’t really talking to her, and she went on.

 _“Remember when I first joined the crew? I think it was probably within the first week I had ideas for modifying the **Ghost’s** guns. I laid out my plans and asked you whether I should run it by Hera first or just do it.” _She paused, and Kanan imagined a humorous light in her amber eyes. _“You got this look on your face—Hera was really, **really** mad at you and Zeb at the time, remember? because of that cantina incident on Lor Prime—and you just said really slowly, ‘Sometimes, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.’” _Sabine laughed. _“That was really solid advice, Kanan.”_

She paused, taking a deep breath.

 _“So I guess this is me, asking forgiveness? Or…explaining…”_ She made an aggravated sound. _“Here’s the deal: I walked into the galley and Hera had your armor, said you wanted to get rid of it. Now, as a friend, I support you and whatever you want one hundred percent—I’m—here for you.”_ She rushed to continue. _“But I am just **too** Mandalorian to let that happen—like, I think it would cause me actual physical pain to see pieces like that go to waste.”_

Sabine paused again and Kanan’s mouth turned up in amusement. He felt the oddly-shaped piece of metal in his hand, the piece he thought might have been part of his armor. “What’d you get up to, Sabine?” He murmured. The recording continued, and she answered as if she’d heard him.

 _“I…was on the medical frigate last week getting stitches on my knee because Ezra— **gods,** I’m rambling—it doesn’t matter—” _She stopped, huffing an exhale. _“Both droids were busy so one of them just kind of pointed me toward an exam bay, and I sat down to wait. Well…I wasn’t eavesdropping, Kanan, I swear, but you were in the next bay over, and I didn’t have anything to do **but** listen.”_

Kanan stiffened. That had been his last visit with the medical droid before the bandages were due to be removed. The final burn debridement and bacta treatment had been every bit as unpleasant as the first.

_“Well when I got there, the droid was telling you the bandages would come off soon and you asked…you asked whether there would be any harm in keeping your eyes covered after that, like with a mask or something. I—I guess this is the part where I ask forgiveness if I overstepped or whatever.”_

Kanan listened as patiently and curiously as if she was actually in the room with him.

 _“I—hope you don’t mind—I, um, repurposed your shoulder-plate to that end. It took some doing.”_ There was pride in her voice as she started describing her work and it made him come so close to feeling something. _“I had to cut it down, do some reshaping. I fitted it with a leather padding underneath, for comfort. We can tweak the fit when I get back, if you even decide…”_ She cleared her throat. _“Getting the carbon scoring off was almost the hardest part; when did you get shot, Kanan? I don’t remember that happening. It was a nasty gouge—scary to think about. Anyway…after that, I gave it a fresh coat of paint. Not as polished as before; more of a matte finish. Still dark green, though, ‘cause that color’s great on you. It’s…distinguished. Um…”_ He heard her shift a few times, maybe fidgeting with her hands. _“I also…”_

For the space of a few shaky breaths, she was silent. When she spoke again, her voice was rushed, husky, close to tears. _“I stenciled on a pair of jaig eyes. In a lighter color, contrasts with the green. You probably know this, but, um…the jaig eyes, they’re a Mandalorian thing. Symbol of honor given to warriors who’ve shown outstanding bravery. It…was fitting for you.”_ A pause, followed by a cracked whisper. _“Spectre Five out.”_

* * *

 

Sabine disappeared around the corner into the common room just as she heard Kanan’s door slide open. She wiped tears from her cheeks—recording that holo-message had gotten the better of her. Her fingers were trembling from strain and the hours of painstaking work she’d put into making that mask. It had been a lot harder than she thought it would be—emotionally, that is. Making that mask reminded her of its intended purpose, and what had happened, and how Kanan could have died. (How Ahsoka _did_ die. How Ezra hadn’t been the same since.)  It seemed like such a small thing to do for him, but she’d always found it easier to express herself through art. What she couldn’t say with words (in this case, _I love you_ ), she said with paint.

She hoped he’d understand.

* * *

 

Kanan sat in silence after the recording finished and he ran his fingertips over the painted surface of the mask. He reached out with the Force and he could feel echoes of the emotion and care Sabine had poured into making this for him. That made it unspeakably precious. For a fleeting moment, he didn’t mind so much that he needed it.

 


End file.
